Everything's Changing
by Cakedish
Summary: Ten drabbles illustrating the thoughts of Cordelia, Knox, Harmony, Lorne, Fred, Lindsey, Gunn, Wesley, Connor, and Angel in the time between seasons four and five.


She just lay there. Heart monitors beeping out a steady rhythm, breathing going in and out. Her movements were few, if any, and her eyes were shut. But she still had visions, and still remembered Angel. The visions didn't hurt, hadn't for a while, but the memories were amazingly painful.

Angel visited her bedside those first few days. But as the days wore on and the group began moving, she found herself with no visitors except the manicurist and hair stylist. It was okay, though. She had her memories, and she had her visions. She'd know if she was needed.

-

He'd known from the first time he saw her. Curious, suspicious, beautiful and laughing Fred. For so long, he'd searched for the one to play host, and now that he'd found her, he felt indescribable. Elated. She was perfect.

Things had to be set in motion, of course. Arrangements made, other followers contacted. Meanwhile, he could bask in her glow. Laugh with her, talk with her; enjoy time spent with his goddess while waiting on his god. He smiled as she moved her things into the lab. Soon there would be hell on earth, and she would be his king.

-

She was a working girl. No, not that kind. She had a suit, a desk and a shiny nameplate. She'd taught herself what all the buttons on the phone did, and where all the keys on the keyboard were. Things were going great, fantastic even. Then management switched hands, and things got complicated.

A memo with the new taboos was sent around. Killing. Drinking. Littering. It was annoying, but she dealt. Twelve steps, and she was drinking pigs' blood. Soaps occupied her during hunting hours. Everything was running smoothly, until Wesley called her about a promotion. Then things got complicated-er.

-

He missed when things were simple. He'd sing, mingle, empathize, and kick back with a sea breeze. There were no fuzzy lines between good and evil when he accepted both. Now, life was all about the blurred.

Of course, it'd all been his choice. He'd checked into Hotel Ambiguous and never bothered to check back out. This wasn't the kind of deal you skipped out on, even if the fine print was a little blurry. So he took their free phone and big office and pretended everything was easy again. He waved farewell to the part of him that cared.

-

She had trouble saying goodbye. The hotel had been her first home coming back to this dimension, and forever would it be home in her mind. The doors, floors, garden, and front desk all spoke of familiarity. Her blue-inked walls were her own works of art, and she was abandoning them to join Evil, inc. She shuddered at the thought.

Things went into boxes, one-by-one and carefully arranged. Tape sealing the flaps, labels on the sides. When all was said and done, she was left with her last and most difficult task. She coated the roller, and started to paint.

-

He didn't know where to begin. This was a huge plan, more than he'd ever done, and even with Eve's discreet help it seemed like too much. But, he decided, that meant he was doing things right. Only the most elaborate of plans would do when it came to Angel. So he ignored the stress, the uncertainty, the worry, and focussed on getting his job done so he could relish his success.

Standing at the edge of Sunnydale crater, ball of locating energy floating at his fingertips, he knew he was ready. It was time for the tables to turn.

-

He wanted the world to stand still. Everyone was rushing about, trying to get ready. They didn't seem to care what they were getting ready for. All that time spent in the White Room, talking to the big cat, and he still didn't know what he was walking into. Or even why. It was the most cryptic conversation he'd ever had, and he knew Wesley.

He remembered being told that whatever happened, it was for the best. He had trouble buying that. He'd felt doomed walking into that building, and the conduit hadn't helped. It still felt like a trap.

-

He was caught in an internal battle. Part of him understood this as their choice, something to (hopefully) give them an advantage. The other part told him to run back to the safety of the detective agency, where he could hide behind research and weapons, and not need to question his own moral status. But they weren't detectives anymore, and they weren't so clear in their beliefs.

This was who they were now, as much as he loathed the thought. They weren't the golden heroes they'd once painted themselves as. They were the enemy. There's no coming back from that.

-

He couldn't escape the feeling that he should choose Notre Dame. Funny. He hadn't applied there. Then again, everything had felt strange lately, like he wasn't used to moving in his own body or living in his own head, but he chalked it all up to insomnia and anxiety. He had a huge choice to make, and it wasn't exactly instilling calm, fuzzy feelings.

There were so many factors to consider. Location, majors, campuses, wherever the hell Tracy was going... But in the end, he went with his gut and chose Stanford. Something told him he should stay in California.

-

He wasn't ready to leave. He never was, when the time came. He hadn't been ready to leave Manhattan or to walk away from Sunnydale. It was ironic. He used to travel the world, never allowing himself to develop attachments to a place. Why should he, when he was there to destroy? That was all he did, of course.

It was harder this time. He never used to know where he was going. He knew exactly where he was headed this time, and the prospect was grim. It was worth it, though. He would have changed everything for his son.


End file.
